Come and See
by Sempiternus
Summary: Oneshot. Alternate universe. Jess and Rory. You’re not supposed to be here, but I’ll show you how far I have fallen.


**_Come and See_**

By Sempiternus

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_Summary: One-shot. Alternate Universe. Jess and Rory. You're not supposed to be here, but I'll show you how far I have fallen_

_Authors' Note: Alright, so I took another escape from reality today and wrote my second_ Gilmore Girls_, Jess-and-Rory-based fan-fiction. This ones style is a bit strange, and I think it's because I just finished reading_ A Farewell to Arms _by Ernest Hemingway last night and some of his style rubbed off on me. I hope you enjoy reading._

_Disclaimer: I do not own_ Gilmore Girls _nor am I receiving any profit from posting this._

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Donde fuego hubo, cenizas quedan.

Where there was fire, ashes remain.

– _Mexican proverb_

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Come, and step into my world. See how marvelous it is. Do you like my room? How about the bareness of the minuscule walls. I did not believe at first that nine people could fit into a ten-by-eleven foot room, but we have made this a success. Now, do you dare venture over to my bed, which is just a few inches from where we have come in? It's the middle one characterised by the beds that are facing the window on the left side of the room. I know, you do not see any of my famous things which I had introduced to you earlier when you thought you knew me and we lived in the same town. When I was described as a lost cause – which may still be true today, it only depends on your meaning – but a minor, so I was sent to Hell. Or, perhaps because I'm a realist and do not believe in Hell, I shall call it my place of ultimate wreckage. You thought you knew me when I was there. You do not know anything of my life.

But see here! Now I am showing you. You are rather grateful, aren't you? To see where I have ended up after leaving. You always thought I wouldn't turn out to be lost. Is this ten-by-eleven foot room in which I share with people I do not know and only live because I only have to adhere to their needs and do not have to pay money up to your standards? You say nothing, but I know you are saying "no" in your mind. Why is that? Did you really think that I was going to make it? You do not answer, and I do not try to read your expression for the answer I already know, and, trying to cut through this moment of awkwardness, you comment on that fact that there is no refrigerator. Well, you see, I can merely drink warm drinks, it does not make a difference to me. I always thought people were getting too pampered as technology advances. Yes, it seems we finally disagree upon something. That _is _a first, this fact I am certain of.

We shall leave the bare room with nine cots inside and set out to where I work. Now, I believe that I should warn you that you will not like it, but will not bother. I know you better than you know me and will therefore predict that you will not comment on the filthiness of this place, but secretly curse at it and at how far I have fallen. I would do that, too, you see, because I do not like this place either. However, I'm trying to get out of that ten-by-eleven apartment because the people there, I feel, are very close to being sent away. I do not wish to be with them as they are put behind metal bars and, thus, I work here. As we stop when we are closing in onto the place, I hear a sharp intake of breath coming from your direction. Now, it could have been the person who just passed us and happens to be on a cell phone (another downfall of society as we get more lazy.) Perhaps a colleague of his has just been fired and the man is being sympathetic.

On the other hand, I as study your expression, I believe that it could have been from you. Your mouth gapes at the gray building that has bars over the windows. As I see you staring at them intently, I try to explain that those are there because this place has often been broken into. I see your head nodding as you're understanding and your eyes are disapproving. Well, when you came to my place after you had asked my mother where I was currently residing, you said you just wanted to say hello and see how I was doing. I tried to warn you. I had tried to get you to leave. However, being persistent as always, you insisted on coming having a "grand tour" of my current life.

Here you have it. I live in a rundown apartment surrounded by people who murder without mercy and work at a place that you don't even want to know does because it is so dreary. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have. Seeing you and your expressions have resurfaced wounds that had taken _years_ to get rid of. I hope you are as happy as I, seeing you succeeding, as always, and myself falling back down after I was so far on top.

Do you remember me on top? Oh, it was really majestic. I had lived my youth as a screwed up delinquent and I thought, as the work was put into print, that I could finally have a life. However, the cards, as always, are stacked against me, and it all fell. I'm left at the beginning with no more motivation or any of that which I thought I had possibly gained. I'm back to being a teenager, I figure.

Oh, this is the more fun part of this little excursion. I get to walk with you to a food shop and feed you. Oh, I feel the happiness swelling up inside of me. You say that you want to go where you went on your first visit. I say okay, and think that this is also going to be fun, walking an eleven blocks. I do not mention the far distance to you, because I have always not wanted to distress you intentionally, and I knew the look in your eyes would come back as I told you the distance. I've pinpointed the reason to being that you have always had fond memories of that visit. I had long since buried them, and, as everything else, they have resurfaced also, so I figure "what the hell?" and decide the walk the damn distance. More straying from this lazy world.

Alas, another silence descends upon us. I think you have picked up on my bitterness and do not know what to say. I will give a little to you, and admit that I _am_ bitter. Yes, and I'm not sure I have a right to be sour with the person who had just been at the bottom now at the top, and I down to where I had begun. Perhaps even lower, seeing as though nobody knows about this fall except my mother, and that is only because she actually has connections here. You don't say anything until we happen upon the forth block and finally ask how far it is going to be. I tell you the truth, and you do not say anything and turn your attention back upon the sidewalk and ugly silence.

Finally, being fed up with the constantness of this stillness that seems to be laughing at the reversal of rolls, I ask what you are doing here. I hadn't inquired at the beginning as a result of thinking that you would just go away. After seeing my apartment, I figured you would flee. That was foolish thinking on my part, I admit, and now want to know why you have sought me out. For a while, nothing seems to be moving in the correct time continuum, which means time seems to be moving so slowly that we are either going backwards or moving in a time where a second is as long as sixty.

At long last, you say, and I quote, "I wanted to thank you." As almost any person would, I required further explanation for what this was about, and you go into rant-mode about how this boyfriend you were seeing screwed you up so bad with his need for adventure and your thinking that you hadn't had enough spontaneity in your life. At the end of one of your more confusing speed-talk speeches, you end with how you never want to see him again for what he did to your life and how my appearance – which happened when I was on top – was what saved you. Now, I may not be clear on this boyfriend of yours, but it seemed as though none of it was his fault, per se. Sure, his family had played harsh emotion games with you and he was connected to that family, but he didn't do anything, really. Even if he was a jerk when I met him. But I do not wish to be called a jerk like him, so I dare not say any of this to you, and the silence mockingly returns. You are lost in a daydream.

We sit on the same bench as the first visit. More joy swells up inside my gala heart as you sit and stare at the very same place I used to sit when I skipped school. This trip is almost over and my heart can't get any less blithe. I do not say anything as I am eating since talking while you are eating can result in some very unappealing results, meaning death, by choking on a hotdog. That is not a common occurrence, though, where I live, because if anyone were to bring a hotdog there, there would be some bloodshed, so to speak. The nine-bedded people, including myself, do not eat much. That could have something to do with our lack of a refrigerator, but I do not think about it and just eat my food that I did not pay for. Charity is the word when you pay for the both of us, and it is eating me inside how I took a handout from a person who was not supposed to be here. However, my hunger overrides my school upbringing and you still do not speak. Alas, you snap out of it just as I finish my hotdog. Silently, you eat yours.

The silence is overbearing to me, and it just keeps on insisting on getting between us. This trip wasn't planned. I wasn't expecting to see you. Now, all I want to do is be with you. All day, I had tried to fight this thought that was trying to break the overclouding of my mind. Now that it has, I do not want it. You weren't supposed to be here. You were supposed to leave when I suggested that you do. I wasn't supposed to be feeling all these things come rushing back.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

As you stand, I read your expression for the last time. You are not looking me in the eye. It is time to leave, that's what I read. You are hesitant as the last of the hotdog wrappers are thrown away and it is time for the departure. You ask if I will walk you to the bus station, and I agree, not having anything else to do. Or, perhaps, I just cleared my schedule. For you, I will lose my job. This time, you are full of random chitchat. Mostly, you discuss how you are going to be joyous being able to go back inside the vast library that is in your college. I think this sounds like you, and this makes my heart sink a little. I have no more books. They were all left in the old, extravagant apartment of when I was on top. I could not bring them to the new ten-by-eleven apartment.

We near the bus station that is not far from the bench. You go quietly to buy a ticket, and I stand there, debating just walking away. Many times I have heard I do that well. Being as I usually walk everywhere, I am accustomed to being a "good walker." I know this is not what they meant. You come back to where I am, seemingly glad also that I did not walk away. I know you think I am a good walker, too. You keep on telling me about the library. You tell me that you will try and read every book in there because you missed them while you were gone. You do not mention anything else. By now, I know quite a lot about this library, and do not comment on your excessive talking.

Your bus number flashes, and you stand. Now, we have to do what was not planned. I know you did not have this rehearsed. I can see it in your eyes. Unpredictably, you do not say anything. Though the mocking silence does not return, I am quite uncomfortable, and do not know what to say. Neither do you, until you quickly brush off the tip of your tongue that if you do not leave now, you will miss your bus. I concur, and then the uncomfortableness returns. Time is very slow today it seems, and, before I know it, I am walking away. It feels as though it occurs in slow motion, and I turn round once to see hurt in your eyes. I do not go back. I hear the last call for your bus, and I assume you have left. Stepping out of the station, my mind has frozen upon your face and hurt look.

I had buried these feelings. You were not supposed to come here.

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(Revised for paragraph breaks 10 April 2009)

_Completed 1 January 2006_


End file.
